


One Breath, Then It's Gone

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, New Rarepair Who Dis, somnus being a trickster, was he even really there oOoOoOo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: At Noct's coming-of-age ceremony, Prompto struggles to work up the courage to finally make his confession.When Noct has a revelation of his own, it puts paid to Prompto's plans.





	One Breath, Then It's Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted so desperately to write something for Promnus (Prompto/Somnus), but all of my ideas seem to be sprawling AUs, so I opted for a slice of something smaller to test the chemistry between these two. Somehow, it devolved into complete Promptis angst, so... Enjoy!

_ ‘So how long have you been in love with the princess?’ _

_ ‘W- what??? Am not!’ _

_ ‘Looks that way, from where I’m standin’.’ _

_ ‘Dude, you’ve got it all wrong. Noct’s, like… my best friend.’ _

_ ‘Uh huh.’ _

Prompto groans, the sound muffled as he covers his face with both hands. Gladio is notoriously thick-skulled when it comes to romance, so if  _ he’s _ figured out that Prompto’s harbouring a little more than a schoolboy crush, it must be pretty obvious.

He tries to put the conversation from earlier today out of his head — tries to forget the knowing smirk Gladiolus had given him, that said he could read him like a book — and turns his attention back to the Moogle search results in front of him.

He’s renting a suit for Noct’s coming-of-age ceremony, and so far everything he’s found costs more than he makes in a week.

_ ‘You gonna tell him?’ _

_ ‘Gladio, shut up.’ _

_ ‘All right, geez. Somebody’s touchy.’ _

* * *

He’s not  _ technically _ old enough to drink for another couple months, but nobody comments as he helps himself to a flute of champagne. It tastes nicer than the cheap beer he and Noct used to drink when they were younger, even if it doesn’t give quite as much of a buzz as he’d like.

When the waiter swings by a second time, he takes another glass from the tray, swapping it out for his empty one.

Maybe he’s a little nervous. And  _ maybe _ it’s because he was kinda hoping to pull Noct aside tonight and talk to him.

‘Ah, there you are.’

He moves to hide his glass, but by the time he recognises Ignis’s voice and turns around, it’s too late — Noct’s advisor swoops the champagne out of his grasp without batting an eye.

‘Noct’s been looking for you,’ Ignis says. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been here sneaking champagne all evening.’

Guiltily, Prompto shakes his head.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘Where is he? I figured he’d be too busy with all the festivities to see me.’ 

Ignis gives him a look over the frames of his glasses, and Prompto can’t help but feel like Gladio isn’t the only one who hasn’t figured out where his affections lie.

‘He’s in the chambers off the throne room,’ Ignis says. ‘He said he’d like to speak to you before his speech.’

Prompto perks up. Whatever his own internal angst, the last thing he wants is to let Noct down on his big day.

‘I’ll go right now.’

There was a time when the Citadel had been intimidating: oppressively huge and fancy, filled with seemingly endless hallways that had confused and dazzled him. With time, though, Prompto has come to know the building almost like a second home. Tonight, he has to navigate his way through crowds of dignitaries, and he wonders if they can tell just how much he doesn’t belong as he slips by them in his rented suit and scuffed dress shoes.

There’s a member of the Crownsguard posted outside the room where Noct waits when he gets there; she gives him a quick glance over before nodding.

He’s a common fixture here at the Citadel. Like a part of the furniture.

When he opens the door, the muttered sound of words being read aloud drift over to him. He can see Noct pacing from one corner of the room to another, his head ducked low as he recites his speech from the flash card in his hand.

Prompto’s stomach flips. Even seeing the prince like this, his face scrunched up in concentration, all Prompto wants to do is kiss him.

‘Hey, dude,’ he says. ‘You wanted to see me?’

Noct’s head snaps up. For a moment, his blue eyes are wide until he seems to reassemble his expression into something a little more neutral.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he says. ‘Hey. Been looking for you.’

Prompto shrugs.

‘Everything cool?’

Noct glances back down to the notes in his hand. After a moment of shuffling through them, he stuffs them into his pockets and looks to Prompto with a watery smile.

‘Just trying to memorise this speech so I’m not reading off of cards in front of everybody,’ he says.

Prompto nods thoughtfully. Folding his arms over his chest, he scuffs the toe of his shoe against the ground.

Is this it? Is this where he’s supposed to say it?

‘You okay, dude?’ Noct asks. ‘You’ve kinda been…’

Prompto looks up. Noct’s staring down at his feet, hands shoved into his pockets. That  _ usually _ means there’s something on his mind.

‘Not around?’ Prompto offers. ‘Sorry, just with all the  _ coming of age _ stuff, you’ve been so busy. I didn’t wanna get in your way.’

Noct sighs.

‘You know I’ve always got time for you.’

Not too long ago, Prompto never would have questioned it — but with all the new duties Noct seems to have found himself burdened with lately, and with his coming of age…

‘So it’s a pretty big deal, huh?’ Prompto says. ‘Twenty years old. You can, like, vote now and stuff.’

He gives a wry little smile, and sees Noct mirror it with a snort.

‘No more bribing the glaives to smuggle booze in for us,’ the prince says.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Prompto protests, with mock indignation. ‘Just remember — someday when you’re a wrinkly old sixty-year-old, I’ll still be spry at fifty-nine.’

It’s a terrible joke, but at least it drags a little chuckle out of Noctis, even if it doesn’t last very long before his smile slips.

He lifts his hand to his face, rubbing distractedly at his lip. Turning away, he paces over to the corner and stands there awhile before turning back.

‘So hey, listen,’ Noct says. ‘I need to t—’

Prompto’s almost glad for the knock that comes at the door, brisk and efficient; he doesn’t like the way Noct’s face has gone dark. 

The prince flicks an irritated look towards the door and sighs, striding over to open it.

‘Your Highness.’ There’s an aide standing outside, a clipboard in her hand, looking harried. ‘His Majesty wants to push your speech forward. Are you ready to go?’

Noct shoots Prompto a look — like Prompto could somehow convince him to stay, when duty calls.

Prompto shrugs and gestures for the door.

‘Go ahead, man,’ he says. ‘We can catch up after.’

Prompto follows behind; they go their separate ways once they enter the Great Hall, and Prompto gives Noct’s arm a squeeze with a whispered  _ ‘Good luck!’ _ before ducking away.

He can’t find Ignis — probably doing something behind the scenes, or mingling, or somehow single-handedly managing Noct’s entire life — and Gladio is up near the podium where Noct’s headed, all decked out in his Shield’s raiment. Prompto doesn’t see anybody else around in the crowd that he knows, so he picks a spot by the refreshments table and leans against it, his gaze turned expectantly up to the podium.

King Regis appears, his Shield not far behind him, and he’s not the  _ king _ in that moment but the proud dad, as he steps up to the microphone with a quick glance toward his son before addressing the crowd.

‘To all in attendance tonight,’ he says, ‘my sincerest thanks. It’s not every day one’s only child comes of age and — well, that’s not quite right, is it? I can hardly call you a  _ child _ any more.’

He flicks a mischievous look back at Noct, who hides his face as a ripple of laughter goes through the hall.

‘An old friend once told me that having children is man’s only true chance at immortality — that it is through our sons and daughters that our legacy lives on. However, there’s more to it than that. Part of growing old is realising that your children have surpassed your beliefs and expectations for them in every way.

‘Prince Noctis. My son. I once held you as a tiny, squalling babe and wondered at how such a fragile creature could ever hope to survive in this world of daemons and war. When I look at you now, however, I realise that it was you who gave me strength; you who taught me the true meaning of being a man. Every day, you make me more and more proud to have the privilege of calling you my son.’

The king raises his glass, half-filled with a ruby-red wine. He turns to glance over his shoulder at Noct — who has gone very pink — before returning his gaze to the crowd with a dazzling grin.

‘Enough prattling from me,’ he says. ‘It is my honour to present to you the man of the hour — His Royal Highness, Noctis Lucis Caelum.’

Applause erupts throughout the crowd, and Prompto joins in, giving a whistle that cuts through the polite sounds of the guests.

‘Thanks,’ Noct says, stepping up to the mic, his cheeks still burning bright. ‘Uh, thank you. I had this whole speech memorised, but I’m not too good with crowds, so that’s all I can remember. Hah.’

The crowd laughs as though it’s top-tier comedy. Prompto wonders if they can tell how uncomfortable with the spotlight Noct is, like he can.

‘So, uh, first off I wanted to thank you all for coming — and uh, thank all the people who made tonight possible. I’m sure my old man agrees that I’d sooner have something lowkey for my birthday, but seeing as it’s the big one, I guess tradition’s tradition.’

Prompto watches as Noct looks down at the notes laid out on front of them. The prince takes a long moment to ready himself, and when he lifts his glance to address the audience again, he seems to have assumed a mask of sophistication — the young prince that they expect him to be.

‘This birthday is actually special in more ways than one,’ Noct says. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you all what a strain the war with Niflheim has put on our nation. You may have heard the rumours by now, but it’s my honour to confirm that we have entered into treaty talks with His Radiance, Emperor Iedolas of Niflheim.’

A gasp goes around the gathering of guests — Prompto hardly notices the crowd’s reaction over the erratic thud of his own heart. A treaty with Niflheim? This is the first Prompto’s hearing of it. But then… they never really talk shop, do they?

Clarus’s voice rings out, loud and clear, shushing the crowd. Once they’ve settled down somewhat, Noct is free to speak again.

‘The reason I’m announcing this,’ he says, ‘instead of letting you read it in some stuffy press release, is uh… Part of the…’

He’s sweating, Prompto thinks. Shuffling with his notes, going dry in the mouth. Whatever this is — whatever he’s trying to spit out — it’s somehow even bigger than news of a treaty with Lucis’s ancient enemy.

Noct closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself. When he opens his eyes again, he seems to have found some grain of confidence to cling to.

‘Part of the treaty conditions,’ he says, ‘is a marriage, to ensure a bond between our nation, the Empire of Niflheim, and the Imperial state of Tenebrae. It’s my privilege to announce that I am to marry Lady Lunafreya, the Oracle, this coming spring.’

There are no startled gasps this time: only wild applause and cheers.

Prompto feels like he’s gone numb.

He doesn’t hear any of what Noct says after this. He can’t even hear the cheers of the crowd over the gush of his pulse in his ears.

Somehow, he stumbles his way blindly through the guests — blunders to the doors at the back of the Great Hall and all but bursts onto the terrace beyond, gulping in lungfuls of the humid night air.

Noct’s… getting married?

Prompto knows of Lady Lunafreya; knows she and Noctis met once, years ago, while the prince was recuperating in Tenebrae. They’ve kept in touch in the years since, but this… 

There’s a balustrade around the terrace, beyond which is a plummeting drop of several dozen stories to the plaza below. Prompto moves to the barrier and rests his hands on it, curling his fingertips into the marble as he tries to catch his breath.

Noct…

Prompto laughs, sharp and hysterical, and utterly humourless. So much for his plans of telling Noct how he feels.

‘Are you all right?’

He turns around sharply — and somehow, impossibly, Noct himself is standing there.

Only it’s not him, Prompto realises with a jolt. Same dark hair, same angular, catlike features, but that’s where the similarities end. As the man steps forward, swaggering slightly, it’s so easy to see that they’re different. He’s a few years older than Noct, by the looks of things, his jaw a little fuller. And yet at first glance, they’d looked almost identical…

‘What?’ Prompto blurts.

He feels tears burning at the corners of his eyes; angrily, he rubs at them.

The stranger steps closer; stops a few feet away, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants.

‘You rushed out of there rather fast,’ he says, gesturing back to the door. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’

The way he speaks is… stilted. Awkward, somehow.

‘Oh, no,’ Prompto says. ‘I’m… I’m fine. Just needed some air.’

The man shrugs, like he doesn’t quite trust Prompto’s reassurances but isn’t about to argue. He strides easily across the terrace, stepping up to the balustrade, and leans against it a few feet from Prompto.

‘Quite an announcement, wasn’t it?’ he remarks, looking out into the night. ‘An end to the war, and a marriage to seal the deal. What a joyous age we live in.’

Prompto swallows, but it does nothing to dislodge the lump in his throat.

‘Yeah,’ he sighs, turning out to face the city. ‘Praise the Astrals.’

‘Where are my manners?’ the man says suddenly. He turns to Prompto, one hand stretched out towards him. ‘I’m Somnus. Prince Noctis’s cousin.’

Prompto blinks at the hand, then at Somnus’s face. Noct’s cousin? That would explain the likeness — although Prompto didn’t think Noct even  _ had  _ any relatives.

‘I’m Prompto. You’re Noct’s… cousin?’ he echoes, tentatively shaking the man’s hand.

‘Well, technically,’ Somnus says.  _ ‘Distantly _ related, you might say. I just had to come tonight to see Noctis’s coming of age.’

Prompto nods. Somnus still hasn’t let go of his hand; awkwardly, Prompto slips it free.

‘You must be glad to hear the war’s gonna be ending,’ Prompto murmurs.

‘Of course. Although — if you’ll forgive me for saying as much, you don’t seem entirely happy about the news.’

Prompto tenses. Is he really  _ that _ easy to read? No wonder Noct never tells him anything important, if he wears his heart so readily on his sleeve.

‘Nah, I mean,’ he stammers, waving his hands awkwardly. ‘I’m happy! It’s a big deal. Just… a lot to take in, I guess.’

Somnus nods. As Prompto turns around toward the double doors back into the Great Hall, he can feel the man’s eyes on him.

‘You should still tell him.’

Prompto chokes. Heat rushes to his cheeks — has this complete stranger got him all figured out, within minutes of meeting him?

‘W… what?’ he says, his voice straining with self-conscious laughter. ‘Tell him  _ what?’ _

‘Come, now, Prompto,’ Somnus says, his mouth twisting into an uncanny smile. ‘No need to play coy with me. My dear  _ cousin _ may be oblivious to your feelings, but I’m not.’

Prompto has the distinct urge to run again, to hide away until the next century, until his embarrassment has died down.

Somehow, he remains rooted to the spot.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he says, and even though there’s an uncomfortable pitch to his voice, he does his best to maintain his cool. ‘And it’s not even like it’s that easy. He’s getting  _ married.’ _

Somnus lifts his sculpted shoulders in a shrug.

‘You think there haven’t been Kings of Lucis whose hearts belonged to someone other than the one who sat the throne beside them? The heart wants what it wants.’

_ Prompto’s _ heart, which had retreated up his throat moments earlier, now knocks heavily within his chest. As painful as it is to be called out by a stranger, something about Somnus’s words seem to resonate with him, somehow.

‘You think…’ he tries, swallowing thickly. ‘You think I have a shot?’

Somnus is serene, like a fat cat content after its supper.

‘You’ll never know unless you try.’

Prompto looks from Somnus’s face, toward the glass doors into the Citadel. The crowd is too thick to see too far within — it’s not like he’d be able to pick Noct out among the crush of black-clad bodies, anyway.

While he looks on, he feels the air stir beside him. Somnus has stepped up close, and his hand rests on the wall, not far from where Prompto leans.

‘If you ask me,’ Somnus says, ‘I think the prince is a fool for not realising what’s been right in front of him all this time.’

His lips are curved into a smirk, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looks at Prompto. He smells nice, some blend of spices that Prompto can’t quite place. When he leans close, Prompto doesn’t shrink away like he might normally from a stranger; something about him really is like Noct, yet different in some implacable way…

Somnus lifts a hand to Prompto’s chin, gently turning his face so that they’re eye to eye. His lashes are long and thick, curled delicately at the ends. As he breathes in and out, steadily, the warmth of it skirts against Prompto’s lips.

‘To have you reign as consort at his side…’ Somnus murmurs. ‘He should only be so lucky.’

There’s a split-second — a heartbeat — during which Prompto realises the man is about to kiss him. He wonders, in a panic, if he should pull away; if he should throw up a hand to stop him. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans in toward the heat of Somnus’s lips.

He’s not a gentle, tentative kisser, like Prompto’s always imagined Noct to be. He’s… dominant, somehow, like this is very much  _ Somnus _ doing the kissing, and Prompto’s only along for the ride. Still, he can’t deny that it’s nice as Somnus slips one hand into his hair and the other around his waist, and as his tongue darts out teasingly, Prompto gladly parts his lips to welcome it.

_ Noct... _

Prompto’s eyes snap open. With a lurch, he stumbles backwards, thudding into the wall, and covers his mouth with his hands.

‘I’m sorry,’ he blurts. ‘I’m sorry, I’m— I can’t.’

Sighing, Somnus sweeps a hand through his hair. The dark strands push away from his forehead before fluttering softly back into place.

‘Of course,’ he says. Even as his voice is tinged with disappointment, the set of his shoulders seems to suggest he’s moved on. ‘It’s plain to see your heart belongs to him.’

Prompto hides behind his hands. He’s embarrassed and upset — and, he’s gotta admit,  _ insanely _ flattered that somebody so hot would want to kiss him. Through the gaps between his fingers, he shoots a nervous glance toward the door, as though convinced Noct will burst out at any moment.

‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Prompto.’

Somnus’s footsteps crunch across the tiles of the terrace, steady and unrushed. When Prompto lowers his hands, the man is a few feet away, glancing back over his shoulder.

‘You really should talk to him,’ he says. ‘And soon. Spring isn’t so terrible far away…’

With that elusive line, Somnus smirks and turns, swaggering his way back to the double doors leading inside.

Prompto’s phone buzzes with a loud  _ Kweh! _ just as the doors swing shut behind Somnus. His hands are shaking as he reaches into his pocket to pull it out.

It’s Noct.

_ where r u? pls tell me u didnt leave _

Prompto breathes out a shuddering sigh. Will Noct know, just from how he replies? No, that’s ridiculous — and besides, what will the prince care if his friend kissed somebody else? The guy’s getting  _ married. _

_ out on the terrace. _

_ will u come to the crystal? i need 2 talk 2 u _

Prompto sighs. The Crystal is a few floors up, in a room he’s  _ really _ not supposed to be in. The Crownsguard are kind of weird about letting civilians near the ancient artifact that powers the magical wall protecting the kingdom from daemons, strangely enough.

Still, when he gets to the Crystal’s chamber — he passes guards on the door to the hallway leading to the elevator, outside the elevator itself, and again once he gets to the appropriate floor — the guards posted outside it seem to be expecting him, and barely bat an eye as he walks by.

The ceiling is entirely made of glass, cut like facets of clear quartz; beyond, between the world and the sky where the stars twinkle faintly above, the shield cast by the Crystal glimmers and ripples like water.

Noct stands in front of the Crystal, his pale face lit up in shimmering purple-and-blue as the Crystal glows and throbs, like a heart cut out from the heavens.

‘Noct?’

The prince doesn’t react right away. He almost seems to be shaking off a dream as he turns around, moving mechanically.

‘Prompto,’ he murmurs. The dream appears to slip away all at once as he blinks and looks Prompto in the eye. ‘You came.’

Prompto rubs at his cheek, shuffling awkwardly on his feet. Why does Noct feel so much like a stranger right now, when they’ve known each other for years — told each other  _ everything? _

‘Course, dude,’ he says, forcing a breezy laugh. ‘What’d you wanna talk about?’

He watches as Noct wets his lips and slowly turns around, lifting his face to look once more up at the Crystal.

‘I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ he says. ‘About the marriage.’

Dread runs through Prompto, cold and oily and thick in his veins, in his stomach. It’s not like he’d  _ forgotten _ about it, but somehow hearing it from his friend’s mouth, one-on-one, is different than being among the crowd during the announcement. It feels more personal, now. Like a knife, twisting in his side.

‘Dude,’ Prompto says, with strained levity. ‘Don’t even worry about it. I totally get it — like, need-to-know and all that junk.’

The prince doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Prompto feels the uncomfortable urge to fill the silence with chatter. Just about manages to rein it in, balling his hands at his sides and stepping a little closer to his friend.

‘I’m happy for you,’ he says. ‘This is… This is good.’

The weight of the lie crushes him, knocking the air from his lungs. He can feel that awful, tight feeling at the back of his throat like he’s going to start crying, but he fights it off and coughs gruffly into his hand.

‘I wanted to tell you,’ Noct says flatly. ‘I was… I was gonna tell you, I swear. I just… didn’t know how.’

Prompto blinks. This isn’t right — it’s all wrong. They’re best friends, they tell each other everything, why is it  _ like this... _

‘Dude, you know you can tell me anything!’

Noct shakes his head. At least, Prompto thinks he does; maybe it’s a trick of the light.

‘I wanted…’ Noct murmurs. ‘I wanted to  _ talk _ to you.’

Prompto’s mouth goes dry. What’s this about? Is there more to it?

He feels sick, like a dozen eels are wriggling inside his belly. He wants to go back to this morning, to a time before everything, before he finally set his heart on confessing…

‘I wanted to tell you that I…’ Noct says, turning around. He’s looking down at his feet, his shoulders slumped. ‘That I don’t want to get married. That I’d do anything to change it, if I could.’

The minutes seem to tick by. Prompto feels like he has all the puzzle pieces, but none of them are fitting together.

He steps forward, realises his fists are still clenched tight and forces himself to open them. Clears his throat and looks at Noct, even though the prince won’t meet his eye.

‘Th- this is good, though, right?’ he says. ‘The war’s gonna be over. Everything’s gonna be okay.’

Noct shakes his head again, and this time Prompto’s sure of it.

‘I don’t want to marry Luna. I don’t… wanna  _ be _ with Luna.’

It’s like the air’s been punched straight out of Prompto’s lungs; he lets it all out in a sharp gasp and can do little more than stare at Noct as he waits, waits for what his heart can’t bear to believe could be true.

‘I want…’ Noct says slowly, haltingly.

He lifts his head, finally, and his blue eyes find Prompto’s, the colour shifting in the flickering glow of the Crystal.

‘I want… to be with  _ you.’ _

This isn’t how it was supposed to play out. It should’ve been four years ago, when they’d gotten tipsy on alcopops, and they’d lain on the merry-go-round at the playground, watching the sunrise. Should’ve been at Prompto’s eighteenth birthday, when Noct had bashfully thrust the gift into Prompto’s hands, and it’d been a fancy lens for his camera.

Should’ve been a year ago, when Noct hadn’t been able to drag himself out of bed all day, and Prompto had stayed with him and held him and let the prince sleep in his arms.

It should’ve been any time before now, when they still  _ had _ time. Because time just ran out.

‘Don’t,’ Prompto murmurs. ‘Please don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’ Noct counters, almost bitterly. ‘Tell you I love you? ‘Cause I do, Prompto.’

It’s another punch, this one to the gut, and Prompto almost doubles over from the pain of it.

_ I love you too, _ he wants to say, but all that comes out is a choked, pathetic little sound.

‘I’ve been in love with you for years,’ Noct says. ‘And I’m an idiot, and I waited, and now I’m—’

‘Noct. Please.’

Prompto’s voice is so tiny he almost doesn’t recognise it. He  _ feels _ tiny, in the face of the revelation; in the face of the prince, his best friend, where he stands in front of the Crystal that will become his burden to bear one day.

He wants to go back in time. To before he had that tiny, frail little glimmer of hope; before there was a part of him that thought  _ maybe… _

‘It never would’ve worked out, right?’ Prompto says weakly, shrugging his shoulders. ‘You’re gonna be king someday, and I’m… me. Even if it hadn’t been Lady Lunafreya, it would’ve been somebody else.’

Noct looks like someone just tore his heart out and stomped on it. It’s about how Prompto feels.

‘I don’t wanna think like that, Prompto. I just… want to be with you.’

There’s a knot lodged in Prompto’s throat, and it only seems to constrict all the more, to choke him, as Noct takes a faltering step forward and bridges the distance between them. As the prince reaches out and grabs Prompto’s hands, pulling them towards him, Prompto feels like he’s drowning.

‘I wanna forget about all of it,’ Noct says in a feverish whisper. ‘Just for a little while, I wanna pretend that we… that we could…’

Prompto tries to force the lump down in his throat, and it’s like sandpaper as he swallows.

‘That we could ever have a chance together?’ he supplies, his voice meek.

Noct nods, a little frantic. The shadows and light cast by the Crystal dance across his face, making him look bewitched.

‘I don’t wanna lose you, Prompto,’ he says. ‘No matter what, I… I need you.’

It’s nothing less than what Prompto’s felt in all the time they’ve known each other, but to hear the words from Noct’s lips — now, knowing what’s to come — stabs him right in the middle of his chest.

He should turn and go, he thinks. It’s… too painful to stay. Too painful to think of a life where he stays in Noct’s life, longing for him while his wife reigns at his side.

But he doesn’t leave. His hands twitch where Noct clutches them, and he steps closer, till his shoes bump the prince’s. He leans his forehead against Noct’s, and when he breathes out a shaky sigh, he can feel Noct practically quivering where their hands are clasped.

‘I don’t wanna lose you, either.’

Noct shifts; a strand of his hair brushes Prompto’s face, tickling his cheek. He twitches forward just a hair’s breadth, and it seems to take an achingly long time but finally he moves again and this time, his lips find Prompto’s.

Noct’s lips are cold, and chapped, and he kisses like he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing — but as he lets go of Prompto’s hands and slips his arms around Prompto’s neck, it feels a little like coming home.

‘Stay with me,’ Noct murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet Prompto’s eye. ‘Tonight. Let’s just… hide away until morning, pretend like nobody else exists.’

Prompto breathes out a laugh. Realises, belatedly, that Noct isn’t kidding — that his eyes are somber.

‘Okay,’ he replies, after a pause. ‘Okay, let’s do it.’

It’s hand in hand that Noct leads him away from the thrum of the Crystal; hand in hand that they wander, dreamlike, through the Citadel halls. Prompto barely registers the journey to Noct’s room until his friend unlocks the door, and suddenly they’re inside and they’re alone, and they have the whole night ahead of them.

Noct kisses him, again, once the door’s shut; delves a hand into his hair and tilts his head, kissing him a little more needily this time.

When he pulls away, Prompto feels guilt rot within him.

‘I… kissed your cousin,’ he blurts. ‘Out on the terrace, after your speech. I was so upset about the announcement and I wasn’t thinking and he was  _ there—’ _

The look of bemusement on Noct’s face silences him.

‘My  _ cousin?’ _

Prompto nods.

‘Somnus? He said he was, like, a distant cousin or whatever?’

One of Noct’s eyebrows lifts, almost comically. With a smirk, he lifts his hand and pushes Prompto’s hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.

‘Dude,’ he says. ‘I don’t have any distant cousins. My family tree is a  _ twig.’ _

Dumbly, Prompto shakes his head.

‘But he said…’

Noct snorts. Gently, he leans close and touches a kiss to Prompto’s nose.

‘You got played, buddy,’ he says. ‘But hey — you can kiss whoever you want. Distant cousins of mine or not.’

Something about that doesn’t sit right with Prompto, even as he mulls over the discomfort of being deceived. He doesn’t  _ want _ to kiss anyone else. Not ever, for as long as he lives.

He says as much with his lips and his hands and his hips, wrapping Noct up in his body; by the time they’ve stumbled over to Noct’s bed, he’s already forgotten about Somnus.

Come spring, Noct will be a married man. Prompto doesn’t want to think about what that means for him, or for the fragile little slice of perfection they’re carving out of the night. He doesn’t want to think about engagements or Oracles or Crystals or crowns.

Noct, too, seems to care little about duty as he welcomes Prompto into his bed, between his sheets, and into his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/orchardofbones) or [Tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com). Hit me up on Twitter if you want to scream with me about how beautiful Prompto and Somnus would be together :|


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